The Darkest Descent
by Fallen-Gabriel
Summary: Alexander Mayfair knew several facts about life: he has never been ordinary. His father was a brilliant man. And his guise must never fall. What happens when his truths start to crumble around him?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 (Amnesia)

D-d-d

Okay, before anybody freaks out on me, I want to make this clear. This has suggestive Mpreg. BUT, WAIT, STOP RIGHT THERE, DON'T HIT THE BACK BUTTON JUST YET. Okay, the children in the story aren't 'born' conventionally, they aren't actually 'birthed' or anything. They were created, technically, through an accidental mixture of DNA and cloning techniques. Read to learn more... It will be explained in later chapters.

D-d-d

August 19th, 1845

The New York winter had covered everything in a thick layer of frost, the cobblestone streets thick with frozen mud, and horse manure. Carriages drove by, splashing up freezing filth onto the sidewalks. The night men were just starting to light the street lamps, and Daniel formerly of Mayfair was sloshing his way through the freezing, impending darkness.

His shoulders were hunched, dark eyes focused on the ground before him, and his heavy brown coat was hugged to his thinned shoulders. He pushed past people of different classes; dressed in fashionable silk, or mangy cotton. It mattered not. Daniel shuddered under a gust of icy wind, disregarding the grunts, or harshly hissed words of those whose toes he stumbled on, or shoved away.

He eventually reached his destination, a debilitated brick building with peeling white paint - the complex looking more red by this time - and dark green shudders. Daniel looked up into the top right window, his eyes becoming half lidded, he scaled the steps, and made his way inside. The floor boards creaked, windows were drafty, and rot was starting to crust it's way into the nails of the structure. He averted his gaze to the ground, as to not arouse conversation, rushing to the stairs to make his way up, and only stopped when he was before the door of an apartment. Number 17 to be exact.

Daniel let out a quiet sigh, put on a fake smile, and stepped inside. Two pairs of eyes settled on him, and his ginger grin never faded. "Good evening children, I apologize for being late, I hope I didn't worry you."

"Mother!" Two voices, both high in pitch, but very different rang out then. The two children rushed towards him, making him fall back onto his rump before the door. He laughed, and exchanged hugs with both of them while sitting there, back resting on the door. A boy hugged his right, his silver hair sliding through Daniel's fingers like silk, and tan skin soft under the pads of his now slightly calloused hands. His mismatched eyes could sear the soul or soothe it, he knew, rather a lot like someone else...

But a girl hugged his left, with night black locks - like that of his mother - and her silver eyes were as piercing as icy needles or as soft as moonlight. She was pale to contrast her brother, almost deathly so, but she did not emerge sickly. He squeezed them both gently, wary for fear of breaking them.

"Come along now, supper must be started if we are to be eating at all." He ushered them off, and to return to their studies while he started up the broth for a simple chicken soup. While it was setting up, he fetched the bread from the cabinet. Only two slices left. He gave a small smile.

He would go without tonight. Not that he minded, he would sacrifice the world for the both of them.

Daniel turned to look at them, seated at the table... His son cataloging some local fauna, his daughter sketching on used paper. The young man smiled, wrapping the bread as to not show them till they were eating...

And suddenly, to Daniel, six years felt like a very, very long time.

D-d-d

August 20th, 2013

Alexander Mayfair stood in the main entrance of the castle, his right blue eye and left amber scanning the fallen pillars, and boarded doors leading to other areas. He inhaled sharply, taking in the almost nauseatingly clean mountain air, the coldness of it leaving a bite in the back of his nostrils. His tan skin was pulled tight over the sharp features of his face, bringing about a strangely handsome visage.

He wore a pressed black suit, his crimson tie perfectly kept, and hair pulled back in a night bow.

"It's in great disrepair." A thickly accented Prussian voice stated behind him, a well meaning young woman whom he had contacted for the soul purpose of buying the land... And castle. She was far from professional though, wearing a simple grey hoodie and jeans. "Structurally unstable, it's been condemned since the 1920s - who!" She fell forward, unto him, but he did little to react, other than hold out an arm. The petite brunette fell upon it, blinking in surprise. "You've got a good set of reflexes I see."

He didn't grace her with a reply, simply waited for her to remove herself from him, before taking a few steps forward to kneel. He snatched something off the ground with the speed of a spider's bite, gazing at a red petal between his fingers. "Roses grow here?" His rumbling voice caused the girl to give a slow nod, it sounded so odd coming from one still so young. It wound deep through his chest, sounding out as a brassy baritone.

"That's the Damascus rose. It's very bountiful in the hills." She walked a little forward herself, not feeling safe in the dank room even a few yards away, looking over his shoulder at the odd petals. "I wonder how they got in here though..." The girl gazed around and Alexander suddenly stood. She backed off him a little, unsure if she felt safer close to him... Or farther away.

"The locals say it's haunted, dead creatures coming to steal people in the night and such to be chained up in the dungeons. Supposedly they're ruled by the Baron who lived here in the 1830s. They said he was the devil and lived for hundreds of years as some kind of monster. Kind of like Prussia's own: Vlad the Impaler."

"I'll take it."

"What? But, sir, this building shouldn't be used at all! It's way too unstable in most of the upper reaches and -"

"I will have it repaired." He turned on his heel, stalking past her, his shoulders hunched to shadow most of his front from her as he walked out.

"Uh, but, wait - sir! Such an endeavor would cost a substantial amount as -"

"I **will **have it repaired." He cast her a sharp glance over his shoulder, a parting gift as he walked out the door, and she was left there... Motionless.

D-d-d

October 10th, 2013

Alexander stood in the foyer of his new home, waiting quite impatiently for the fool workers to finish working on the lower catacombs before kindly leaving. Since the castle had been poorly taken care of, he had made it his soul duty to restore it to its former glory. Easier said than done. When skeletons and torture devices of the medieval era and 'demonic' runes were found scribbled in the basement, the reconstruction had been put on halt, and a sneaky, greasy archeologist woman named Rebecca J. Lewis had none too gently sunk her claws into his back.

She was an American thing - why mother still stayed in that country was beyond him - with red hair and slight meat to her, standing at five foot six, although she acted more like she was six foot seven. It was like dealing with those pesky dogs that refused to stop yapping. The unending list of questions, the poking around in his journals, and the sniffing where she shouldn't have been.

Now, his castle - still leaking, dank, and ridiculously drafty - was the front page of National Geographic. "God. Fucking. Damnit." Alexander massaged his temples. This Rebecca woman had also clearly not listened to him when he said that he didn't care about the significance of any of it. He just wanted his peace and quiet to continue his studies in peace. And then, when he was nigh forced to let her invade his privacy, she had the gall to start questioning him directly.

"Why did you buy this castle?"

"Is your family in any way related to the Baron of Devils?"

"You look just like him!"

He had to admit, at some point, after finding portraits of the previous owner at certain intervals through the castle, that he did bare a somewhat striking resemblance to the Baron. White hair, tan skin, and his eyes... They had the same mismatched eyes. It was almost like looking at a prophecy of what he would look like if he ever reached the age of fifty. But, he reasoned, that would never happen... Perhaps...perhaps he should ask mother about it?

No, that was out of the question! He scolded himself. What was he thinking? Mother was ill. He would not stress his mother with questions of his father. Alexander shook his head, clearing away any doubts. But, in the meantime, a little research into the Baron done by himself wouldn't hurt...

But, back to present issues. He could focus on the oddly close resemblance of the Baron at a later date. After several attempts to interview him on the nature of Brennenburg - his new home - he had closed the operation, and told the archeologists to leave. If they wanted what was in the catacombs then they could kindly sift through his trash.

Rebecca - the little American bitch - had the nerve to make a big commotion out of it and try to get some kind of court order. The Prussian government took one look at him and said she would simply have to get over it. It payed to make 'friends' in high places. Of course there was a stink about it, the little chit going so far as to lead some kind of strike with the local villagers, saying they shouldn't give up their heritage so easily.

None of them dare stand up with her. Clearly, whatever little superstition had circulated about the Baron kept them well enough away. He made a mental note to light a candle for the deceased noble man as a tribute of gratitude for helping ensure future privacy.

Now, he could hear the workers coming up the tunnel, guffawing and clapping each other on the back. "We're all done sire!" The foreman said with a rather unnecessary and improperly done bow. "The lower areas has been cleaned out and repaired, next stop, the upper reaches!" He was a chubby thing, in thick jeans and a simple shirt with a wool lined brown jacket on, that had seen better days. His whole form was covered in a layer of dirt, specs of paint, and stone dust. "Rather spooky place, thankfully them archeologist fellows moved all them nasty bits out. Dead bodies, rusty knives an' such." His men kept their heads down, walking swiftly behind him for the main entrance.

He smiled, nodding, but then stopped and shook his head. "Although, if you don't mind me saying governor, it's uh... Really easy to get lost down there with all them Latin signs." He said in his thick Manchester accent. "If ya find one of ours down there, ya wouldn't mind sending him back out to the village would ya?"

"Yes, of course," Alexander groused, "after I finish feeding him to my servants."

For some reason, the jolly foreman grew rather pale, and Alexander sneered in amusement. Catching it as a rather cruel joke it seemed, the chubby man gave a wheezy chuckle. "Ah, right, uh, well, see ya later governor." He quickly strode through the great hall, and the young man watched him go, expressionless.

Alexander turned his attention to the door. Dressed only in his black slacks and a button up white shirt with the sleeves rolled up; he stalked to the door. He made his way in, and walked - something passed over him. His eyes widened as wind blasted his back. Wind, not a draft or breeze, but a blast of cold air that could not be created by anything but nature. It even carried the scent of... Rose.

As the breeze blasted his back and swirled into the hallway, it blew out the lights. Electrically powered lights that were built into the walls... Blown out like they were candles. His brow furrowed in agitation, frozen there as his breath swirled before his face in the gloom. Alexander's eyes slowly adjusted and he scowled, stalking forward. Damn workmen and their faulty tech - what?

There, in the distance, was a light, blocked by a body of some sort. A form that was slim and only slightly shorter than him. The person - probably a workmen - was running though. He was running down the tunnel. Alexander's eyes narrowed and he followed quickly, sprinting after the figure. "You there! Halt!"

The man, he knew it had to be, dashed around a corner. "Stop!" Alexander roared, rounding the same corner to - nothing. What? He stopped, voices sounding in the dark as he took a few steps forward...

"_It sure is dark in here_." A voice whispered in fear, impending horror chasing the heels of the syllables. He turned, half expecting someone to be behind him... No one was there.

"_Yes, and there is a reason for it_. _But you can light the lamp now, if you wish_." A voice answered, a deep baritone rumbling from the very darkness all around him.

"_What's the reason_? _For the darkness, that is_." The same voice asked, less weary this time.

"_Stay close - be careful not to stray_." The man growled, evading the question.

"_What's the reason_? _Why is it so dark_?" The younger voice whined, and Alexander slowed. His amber eyes could not see accurate details in the walls from adjustment. He reached out, hand touching the stone, and dug his slightly sharp nails into the grooves. That voice... It was... Familiar.

"_Pay attention, D-_. _It's important that you keep going straight and make sure not to stray_." A name was spoken, but not one Alexander, for the life of him, could make out. And again, the voice did not answer the other's question, and a sigh of wind swirled down the hallway. It cleared away the voices, sent them back from wherever they had come, and he breathed out through his nose.

Alexander once again saw it, the lantern in the distance. He pursued it, relentlessly charging after the retreating light. It took an odd path through the refinery, and he could hear the panting of the man after several moments of the chase.

And then suddenly, he was gone...

He could not hear him, and now Alexander wasn't sure where or, more importantly when he was. It seemed like he'd fallen into some dizzying dream of the past.

He almost lost the light, the mystifying flame that seemed to fizzle out of life. But then he heard it. A creak, and then a slam. Alexander's feet slapped over the concrete as he practically leapt at one of the doors. The refinery had yet to find use again, but that mattered little. He searched the room, his target having slipped far from him, and he knelt on the floor. Where could he have gone?  
He laid on his front on the ground, scanning on the floo - there! He stood quickly, a trap door under a wine vat.

Alexander ran his hands over the outside surface of the cylinder shaped wood. He slid down a little, gripping the base with both hands, and pulled up. He heard the cry of the wood, as it's rotted body was forced to move. The smell of wine suddenly perfumed the air as it spilled its long since stale contents upon the ground.

Inwardly scowling from the laziness of the workmen for not having removed this brittle, useless vat, Alexander managed to rip the top half away. He raised his leg and stepped into the middle of the vat, lip curling in disgust from the dried and still slightly damp interior. He knelt, his left fist smashing into the bottom, and he started to jerk. The first three planks caused no harm, but as he dug into the splinters and even smashed through the trap door below, splinters started to lodge themselves in his forearm and hand. He disregarded them. Pain was a luxury he had long lived without.

Finally, after at least three wasted moments of tearing, jerking, and throwing away the wood, he had an opening. He jumped through it, and into the mysterious depths below. The hallway was dank, and rather dark. He carried on. Alexander opened a door, and as his eyes adjusted, he found himself in yet another series of winding corridors. Ones that had clearly been sealed off. But the light had returned. His eyes narrowed upon the odd way it was moving. It was as if it were jumping...

He walked forward and his legs suddenly felt heavy, as if he were traveling through... "Water?" But there was none, just walls thick with dampness. Alexander continued to follow the light, and just when he seemed to get close to the figure that carried it, it would run and leap away. Why was the mysterious shade trying to stay so high? Sure enough there were debris of what might have been boxes and barrels hundreds of years ago, the mildew and rot becoming heavier through the air.

Eventually, he reached a door that was locked off by a wheel contraption. Alexander grabbed the severely rusty thing and began to turn. It cried out and nearly broke, making him pull away. That would not do, it would merely break. He walked swiftly to the wall, and searched for a loose stone. The light had carried on through, seeming to have disappeared, only to reappear on the other side. Clearly, whoever it was had used the ancient wheel, but left no avenue for him.

Alexander finally found a lose stone, jerking it from the wall he proceeded back to the bars, and smashed them through. It did not take long. Making quick work of his task, he followed. After exiting through yet another door he came face to face with yet another winding tunnel that seemed to serve no purpose. He walked forward a few feet... And terror sang through the air. The light dashed ahead, and Alexander found himself chasing at a daring sprint.

Doors were opened and slammed in his face, promoting him to merely tear them back open, and off their hinges the other way. Finally, after several doors it stopped. He jerked open a thick door and - brick. Solid stone that had clearly been placed here long ago. He snarled, and doubled back a few feet. He would need something... He looked to the door. He found a long piece of iron, made into the door frame, and barley rusted. It appeared at least one deity was on his side...

He jerked the door a few times, pulling it off its rusty steel nails before disengaging what he needed. And then came the tedious work. He began to slam his hand made crow bar into the concrete repeatedly. He perhaps stayed there an hour, smashing his way through.

The size able hole, created by time and wear, was quickly hacked at further until it made an opening at least three by three feet. He pulled himself through and ascended a set of stairs. Bent steel in hand he was forced to hack at another - much thinner - layer of stone. This layer of stone was set in, held up be wooden beams, and clearly made to be the floor to another area of the castle. This staircase had been blocked off...

Breaking through yet again, tearing beam and stone out of his way, he stepped out into the back hall. What? Clearly that way had been made for servants hundreds of years ago. And for some reason, someone had come in and remodeled a little before the castle was even condemned. But, for what purpose? To hide a secret entrance to a place that could easily be reached another way?

Alexander shook his head and threw the crowbar away, useless as it was to him then. He walked over to one of the dressers close by, and pulled out a piece of white linen. He tore a piece of fabric away to wrap his left hand, slowing when he saw... The man! The figure he had pursued the whole of the night had just gone through another wall. He knew he had...

He rushed over and felt the stone wall. Air. He could feel it through one of the cracks. Alexander walked swiftly up the stairs to the study. Inside, he found the sledgehammer and a spare rope. Quickly making his way back, he took aim and destroyed the wall. He saw a light in the distance and followed.

The sledgehammer still in one hand he wearily treaded forward. He stopped when he felt a breeze, reaching around... An elevator shaft? Yes, an old one used many years ago.

It was time for the rope. He wasn't sure if it would reach the bottom, but the light was down there... And he needed to know where it lead. Alexander tied the rope off, and began his descent...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 (Amnesia)

Hours, he had been following this goddamn light for hours. Alexander's left hand throbbed, the blood flowing fiercely though his wrist, and his eyes strained in the gloom. The man, form, ghost, shade - whatever in the nine damned hells you wanted to call it - had been going for hours. He was beginning to realize - as the cut above his eye stung, his head pounded from the loss of blood no doubt, and his damp clothes clung to him - that he was perhaps losing his mind.

He'd fallen in the elevator shaft. He had heard a _crash_ and something had brushed past him, something that could be nothing but debris he knew. And something had lodged itself none too gently in his leg, and scraped by his right eye. He remembered falling, rolling, tumbling, and grunting in slight annoyance at his lack of foresight. Again, pain was something he had learned to live without. When suddenly it had stopped. His head had rung for five minutes, and he had laid on the floor like a fool and panted.

Clarity returned to him, and the light did as well. Warmth spread about his features and he slowly stood. A piece of wood stuck out from his thigh area, but with no way to properly treat it, and knowing it would only make him bleed profusely to remove it, he carried on. His left leg had clearly seen better days.

Alexander coughed, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. It would fail him now to double back, and he found little point. He had to see this through. The hammer fell from his hand, and he leaned heavily against the wall in a circular tunnel. Fatigue, it burned through his system, and a steady beat was growing through his leg, eye, and head. Pain was starting to come as well, he must truly be in agony. He chuckled darkly. Perhaps not pain, no, soreness.

Alexander slowly stood, breathing heavily, and made his way inside. This room was by far the oddest. Rocks were shattered over the floor, three pillars were knocked over in the center of the room, and some odd contraption was in the middle. At the head of the room was some odd, large, circular alter. He let out a deep breath through his nose.

"This is it?" He rasped, giving a low chuckle. "All of this... For some third century machine?" He stepped inside, making his way to the strange, heightened alter. Alexander pulled himself up onto it, panting, and stood to get a better look at the room. How odd... Why were these rocks here? He slowly sunk down onto the ground, closing his eyes in exhaustion. Blood leaked from his leg onto the ground, and he gripped it. His pant leg was soaked.

He cursed, too little, too late. Too much blood had been lost. Alexander laid there, rolling onto his back, and the darkness curled around him. Right now, he remembered his mother. He smiled at the thought. His mother hated the dark. Didn't so much fear it, itself. Mother simply hated the thought of being trapped in the dark with nothing... Forever.

An odd thought. 'Nothing' can not exist. Everything must have something. At least, he thought scientifically, that was how things should work. Alexander grunted, eyes barley open, and just when he thought he was about to lose consciousness... He saw something. It was blue, neon in color, and it was out of the corner of his eye he saw it. Someone. Not the figure he'd chased, but... Someone else. Someone, for a reason unknown to him, he thought he should know.

D-d-d

Alexander slowly opened his eyes, inhaling sharply though his nose as he used what little strength he had to roll over, and push his face into the pillow. His head was turned to the side so he could still breathe, and he gave a low groan. _Where am I?_ What a stupid thought. He was in his home, but not his bed.

He sat up, his mismatched eyes narrowed. He was in the guest bedroom. Alexander swung his legs over the bed and stood, instantly regretting it. His left leg gave a jabbing throb that sped up his hip and through his spine, to the base of his skull. He stumbled, gripping the side table, and sent it to the floor as he fell. Cursing, he managed to stand, and looked down. His wound had been dressed, and he'd been put in his usual pair of black silk bed clothes.

Who had saved him? Alexander managed to grip the wall and make his way out. The back hall looked the same, but the floor had a sizable hole in it and - a man was kneeling over it. His hand was trailing the outside of the hole, his down turned head, and hat obscuring Alexander's view of his face.

"You there!" Alexander snapped. "Who are you?" The man's head turned up sharply, and he stood. He wore a wide brimmed black hat, a black shirt and coat. His black trousers led down to clean dress shoes, and he wore matching black gloves. His hair was silver and he stood rather tall, with piercing eyes... The right blue and the left amber. Alexander's own irises became wide. The man had only a few wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes, a thick, short beard hugging his jaw.

"Forgive me," he bowed, "I am Viktor of Budapest." His brassy baritone rivaled Alexander's, and his brow furrowed. The man looked like he could very well be - to anyone else's eyes - his father. But to him, he was a stranger, a very odd, strangely familiar stranger. He felt as if he knew him in some way. A kinship spawning between them that no doubt the stranger was aware of as well.

"And why are you here? Was it you that assisted me last night?" None the less, he was an anomaly. A foreigner who had entered his domain, and everything that did not belong was an attack upon his sanctuary of solitude.

"I came to the castle seeking shelter last night, I sought only to escape the outdoors since my transportation was halted by a rather trivial ditch, and entered when I received no answer. I implore you to forgive my bad manners, but I noticed an absence of any form of help, so I chose to search; if only to help me continue my journey. I found your rather odd trail, and followed. You were rather lucky I found you when I did."

He spoke as if he were from a time that Alexander remembered. A time when people were courteous, when dignity and honor were worth something, when the honest word of a man, or one underhanded deed could shape your future as either a knight or a demon. When he was still in something resembling a family.

They stood in a comfortable silence as Alexander weighed his words. Sensing that his credibility was being put to the test, Viktor smiled softly.

"Your name?"

"Alexander." He answered without hesitation. And then it changed. A tense air was born between them at just those four syllables. Viktor's keen eyes seem to sharpen like that of a blade.

"Alexander?" He murmured, gazing at the youth. He nodded, rendered mute by the silent stare of the elder. Viktor finally nodded, giving a small smirk that fitted his face with a malevolent glint. "Tell me, who named you? Your mother or your father?"

"My mother." He answered certainly. "Mother named me after my father, said he was a brilliant man." Viktor's eyes seemed to flicker before he lowered his gaze to the hole at his feet.

"And tell me, pray tell me, what is your mother's name?" Alexander let out a heavy breath through his nose.

"... Mary. My mother's name is Mary." Lies had ceased to leave a bad taste in his mouth, they came easily and fluently.

"Mary..." Viktor caressed the name, as short as it was, on his tongue. "What does she look like? Does she bare a last name?"

"You ask many questions." Alexander groused, his lips pulling back a little to reveal his teeth.

Viktor seemed to remember himself. "I ask forgiveness yet again, it was not my place."

The young man nodded, but thought to grace his oddly familiar guest with an answer none the less, just one... "Mother formerly came from Mayfair." Viktor's head snapped up, eyes wide on Alexander, as if he'd just spit some vile poison upon him. He quickly though, returned his gaze to the floor, and hid the growing snarl. He put his hand over his teeth, hiding the sharp, grinding canines.

Alexander raised a brow. "Are you well?"

To his credit, Viktor was quick to compose. "Yes, I am... Fine."

Alexander kept a weary eye upon his guest. "I suppose it would do little harm to let you stay for tea. I shall dress, then we may... Talk." He once again entered the guest room to find spare clothes to do him for the day.

D-d-d

When he exited, his guest had already started the kettle in the study, leaving Alexander little room but to follow. He entered the small office, standing in the door way of the study's tea room. The floors of the tea room had been replaced thanks to the blood stains that had rotted into the wood. The bloody tables with stuffed animals removed, along with saws and other utensils. A fireplace had been put in, along with a circular table, and lighting with a small bookshelf.

"It is not wise to wander, Brennenburg is rather vast." He implied that the elder could lose himself, and in turn this brought a chuckle from the other.

"I am not yet that old." He joked, but the joke seemed more humorous to him for some reason.

"Very well." He sighed, stepping back into the tea room. He sat down, taking weight off his injured leg, and swallowed hard. The idea of pain was returning to him very quickly. He chuckled at the thought. Viktor entered, putting the pot and cups on the table. His weathered hands were shown, pale as the rest of him.

"Something on your mind?" He asked, mismatched eyes settling on the young man. He sat, pouring the tea, and fixed it for Alexander. As if he somehow knew how he would like it...

"I have not been in such pain in years that I could feel it... I thought I'd escaped it forever." Viktor paused, stopping in his stirring of the tea.

"You are never too old to feel pain. It is not something you outgrow, or escape through age." He watched Alexander with something almost akin to cruelty. "To think so is rather... Childish." He took a sip of his tea and the younger sneered.

"I suppose you would be the judge of that."

Viktor gave a low laugh, the smile that set in on his face irritating the younger further. "You doubt your elders?"

"Some of us are older than we appear." Viktor raised a brow but smirked.

"I suppose." He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, stroking the beard on his jaw with his thumb.

Silence.

"You were rather interested in my mother."

"You looked rather interesting...besides, I am still rather curious about your father. The way you spoke of him."

Alexander shrugged. "Mother said he died when my sister and I were young - "

"You have a sister?" Viktor suddenly asked, and Alexander nodded.

"We aren't very close." He kept the answer short and to the point. "He died when we were young." He continued. "Mother always said 'he was a brilliant man'." He scoffed. "When most speak of their fathers, they say: 'he was a good man', even though some lie through their teeth. The some have become the most these days though; where they lie and say: 'he was a good man'. But no, when you're faced with saying, quite simply, 'he was a brilliant man', something else opens up completely." Alexander shook his head.

"When I asked mother about him, tried to truly understand what was being said to me, mother told me that father was NOT a good man. He was a very intelligent man, a careful, calculating - almost making him sound sinister - man, but never once did mother say: he was a good man."

Viktor stared at the floor, quietly drinking his tea for a moment, before setting it down on the table. "You're father had his reasons, I'm sure."

Alexander raised a brow. "For dying?"

Viktor put his hands on his lap, his ankle over his knee. He shrugged softly. "Did he die in war?"

"Mother never said."

"I notice you never say 'she'..."

"..." Alexander fell silent, staring at his visitor. The man had noticed what no one had bothered to in the long years of his life. "I see no reason to explain my vocabulary to you." It was a weak defense, and Viktor smirked, but he said nothing else on the matter.

"What is your mother's last name?"

"Mayfair."

"The name of the place she heralded from?"

"Yes."

"Why did you choose to purchase this castle?" Viktor asked, gazing around at the room as if he were trying to identify it.

"It gives me privacy, which is something I highly value." Alexander answered without thought. "The villages fear the superstitions of the 'Baron of Devils' so much that they never bother me."

"Baron of Devils?" Viktor asked, gaze darting to his young host. "That wouldn't happen to be Alexander of Brennenburg?"

"You know of him?" Alexander asked, intrigued, perhaps he would not have to journey far for his information after all.

Viktor shrugged. "I'm something of an expert on Prussian folklore, especially that of this area. I was born around here, in the country side."

"What can you tell me of him?" Alexander questioned, still weary of his guest. Viktor so far was a solitary like man it seemed, who had mysteriously referenced that he was simple. But his dialect, speech, and slight accent - one that even Alexander, who had traveled the world over could not place - gave him away as anything but.

"He was a powerful man who ruled all of the surrounding area. Dreadful sort to the villagers, but I see him as something of an idealist."

Alexander raised a brow. "Truly?"

"Indeed. Besides, most men through history who were regarded as monsters turned out to be the great thinkers of tomorrow." Viktor smirked, almost sneered really, his sharp teeth flickering in the fire light. "Or do you find my thinking odd?"

Alexander weighed what he said, knowing that his answer would define how he was seen in his guest's eyes. If he answered that he didn't care, he'd appear immature, or sullen and two dimensional. If he said yes he would look as if he was merely agreeing with him for the sake of agreeing. But, then again, why did he care?

"Poets, scholars, idealists, and scientists." Alexander shrugged. "They cease to matter after a certain point. This world has little to nothing left to offer in the way of idealists, those who exist in a time not their own. In a world that is not their own. One can not simply say that they feel as if they don't belong. Belonging is being in one's time, knowing their place without consequence, never questioning if you should have treaded a different path. As it is, I am rather indifferent to 'idealists'. I may be one to some, but in the end, we are all just men in the wrong time."

Viktor watched him as he sat, pulling the tea to himself to drink. He was shocked for a moment... It was fixed perfectly. It had taken him several months to teach his last maid to perfect the tea to his tastes. A teaspoon of honey, two lumps of creme, and a cube of sugar. How? He gazed at Viktor, who in turn stared at him. He resettled in his chair, not wanting to admit he was slightly unnerved by the familiarity that had been bread between them in just a few hours.

"I find it rather humorous." Viktor murmured, and Alexander turned his gaze upon him. "Your name is Alexander, and did you not say you were named for your father?"

"Yes."

"The Baron of Devils was named Alexander." He smirked. "And I have seen portraits of him in books; you resemble him greatly. Could you not be him incarnate?"

"And yet you resemble him more than I." Alexander snapped back in reply.

Viktor gave a chuckle. "I suppose you're right."

Alexander was swiftly growing tired of the charade his guest was perpetrating... He knew something. Something he clearly was not sharing. From across the table, blue met amber on both sides, opposites, forever then entangled in a battle of wills. "This farce has lasted a long time, do you think not?" Alexander growled.

Viktor raised a silver brow. "You think me a sham?"

"I do."

"What makes you believe that?"

"Something about you that I can not name. There is familiarity here, between us, but of what I can not identify."

Viktor nodded. "I sensed it as well, but kept silent in case my feelings were one sided." He watched Alexander silently. "What is your mother's name, truly?"

"My 'mother' is not... A woman. My sister and I call him that because... Well, I don't really know why." He shrugged, the stranger could believe that half lie, surely. His 'birth' was none of the man's business. And he would be gone before mother ever came to visit.

"Oh? He had to be a very understanding individual."

"Yes..."

"His name?" Viktor reached for his tea again; holding the saucer on his fingers, and the cup pressed to his lips.

"Daniel Mayfair."

The cup crashed to the floor.


End file.
